


spot conlon has a bad night

by moldymilk



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Fighting, Knives, M/M, Mugging, Prompt Fill, a little bit of stabbing, psa morris is Not a good dude and should not be portrayed as a good dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 10:46:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12886236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moldymilk/pseuds/moldymilk
Summary: prompt: "you're so fucking hot when you're mad"





	spot conlon has a bad night

**Author's Note:**

> this is another reminder that morris delancey is not a good dude in both the movie and stage canon and has no redeeming qualities at all if you want mike faist content use mike the newsie

All Spot wanted was a quiet evening with Race where nothing happened. Was that really too much to ask for? Apparently it was, because just after he finished texting his boyfriend to let him know that he had arrived, some asshole decided it was the perfect time to mug him. 

 

He grunted as he was shoved up against the brick wall of the alley next to Race’s building, as what he could only assume to be a knife handle was pressed into his back. Spot could feel the mugger’s hot breath against his ear as he demanded Spot’s phone and wallet for the second time, and he was denied for the second time. He threw an elbow into the mugger’s stomach, knocking him back a few steps, taking that as an advantage to whip around to face his attacker, who was none other than Morris Delancey. Morris lunged at Spot, who was prepared that time, throwing a punch which Spot dodged easily, causing his hand to hit the brick wall instead. 

 

“Fuck!” Morris yelled, not caring who heard.

 

“You deserve it, dickwad,” Spot growled out, throwing himself at Morris. He managed to get a few punches in before Morris landed a solid one on him, knocking him onto his back. Spot watched in horror as his attacker took a knife out of his pocket, confirming Spot’s suspicions, before walking over to Spot and swiftly kicking him in the chest and stomach multiple times, stopping to stare at the other boy’s heaving and near unconscious figure with a sneer of disgust.

 

“You know, Spot,” Morris said, grabbing Spot by the collar and dragging him up so he was standing, “I don’t even want your money now that I know it’s you. I think I’m gonna leave you half dead for your little Race to find you. Who knows, maybe you  _ will  _ be dead by the time he finds you,” He finished, headbutting Spot directly in the nose. Morris then threw in a few punches for good measure, afterwards taking the knife back out. He put the knife on Spot’s chest, pressing just enough to tear Spot’s shirt without piercing his skin. Spot spit blood onto Morris’ face in retaliation.

 

“Oh, you’ve done it now, you cock sucking son of a bitch,” Morris taunted, pressing the knife down hard enough to draw a little bit of blood.

 

“Fuck you, Delancey,” Spot gasped out, trying his best to not display that he was genuinely fearing for his life. He knew what the Delanceys were capable of, and that they had no stopping point. He winced as Morris pressed the knife harder, feeling the pain spread like waves across his body. There was a yell from the open end of the alley, causing Morris to let go of Spot, who crumpled to the ground clutching his chest. 

 

It took a few moments with his hazy vision, but eventually Spot recognized the yeller as his boyfriend, who had begun to beat the shit out of Morris in retaliation. He smirked to himself as he watched Morris run out of the alley, before Race came running over to him.

 

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” Race asked, picking Spot up bridal style.

 

“Nothin,’” Spot mumbled, pressing his bruised face into his boyfriend’s chest as he was carried to the front door.

 

“Spot, hon, something happened. There’s gotta be a reason Morris was beatin’ you up in that alley, and we can talk about that later. But you gotta focus on stayin’ awake, at least until I can have a proper look at ya” He responded, carrying Spot into his and Davey’s apartment. He gently set Spot down on the couch, then went to fetch the first aid kid Davey insisted on buying. When he returned, Spot was attempting to sit upright.

 

“Hey, baby,” He said dizzily, almost as if he was drunk, and finished with a half assed wink.

 

“Hey yourself,” Race retorted, putting on gloves and gently dabbing a wet washcloth on Spot’s face.

 

“God bless you going to med school, am I right?” Spot mumbled out, wincing as Race touched his nose.

 

“Well the good news is your nose isn’t broken. The bad news is that it’s gonna hurt like a bitch for the next week or so,” He informed Spot, who attempted to laugh but ended up wincing again from the pain.

 

“I love my 100% professional future doctor boyfriend,” Spot wheezed out as Race checked both of his eyes for signs of a concussion. When Race finished, he pulled away, but not before giving Spot a small peck on the lips.

 

“I love you too, babe, but you can’t flirt with me while I’m trying to examine you,” He said calmly.

 

“But Racey, you’re really fuckin’ hot when you’re mad, so I’m allowed to flirt with my hot and protective boyfriend,” Spot whined in retaliation. Race blushed, although he would deny it.

 

“Shirt off,” he commanded, forgetting to mention that he was trying to examine Spot’s torso.

 

“And you said I couldn’t flirt with you,” Spot said as he winked lazily again.

 

“Jesus christ. Just take your shirt off so I can look at your stomach. I still haven’t forgotten the signature Delancey dick move of kicking people,” Race sighed. Spot begrudgingly took his shirt off, scrunching his face as his stab wound was exposed to open air. Race looked at the mass of bruises and the cut on Spot’s torso, repressing the urge to go out and find Morris so that he could give him a piece of his mind. Instead, he settled for a sharp inhale and biting his lip.

 

“He stabbed me, Racer. Morris fucking stabbed me,” Spot said, reality setting in. He held back a few tears as Race looked at the rest of his torso while holding the washcloth to his boyfriend’s stab wound.

 

“It’s gonna be okay, Spottie. It’s not that deep, you won’t die, we can press charges. There’s a security camera outside of my building facing the alley, I’m sure it caught you and Morris going in there,” Race comforted.

 

“But I- okay. We’ll press charges, get him sued or thrown in jail or something,” Spot agreed. Race looked closer at the cut.

 

“I think you’re gonna need stitches. We’re going to the hospital,” He admitted.

 

“Absolutely fucking not,” Spot protested.

 

“I’ll convince Davey to spend more nights out if you let me take you to the hospital,” Race suggested.

 

“Deal.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on tungle dot hell please @juliawritessometimes


End file.
